Always and Forever
by hungrymanatee
Summary: "Who was that shape in the shadows? Who is the face in the Mask?" What would have happened if Christine and the Phantom had met before that fateful night at the Opera Populaire?
1. I remember

Just outside of the grand city of Paris, a small spectacle lay in the shadows. Its shabby tents and run-down music created a horrifically fantastic aura, drawing in even the most cynical passerby. A sign, painted in large red and white letters hung high above the worn-down menagerie; it read "le carnaval"

"Viens Voir! Come one! Come all! Behold sights beyond comprehension! We have the strangest and freakiest sights in all of Paris! Viens!" The well-groomed man dressed in a top hat and black suit jacket with lapels announced into a cloth funnel. The sun was low on the horizon, casting a dusky glow across the small carnival. Small fairy lights that hung from big-top to big-top twinkled to life as the natural light grew lesser. Suddenly, the air was filled with laughter as a little girl with dark curly hair ran underneath the several strings of lights. She ran up to a man holding a violin loosely in his left hand standing near a greenish tent.

"Christine, darling, don't run off to far now. Le carnaval should be closing soon and you wouldn't want to be left behind, now would you?" the man said to the dark haired girl. He kneeled down and smiled at his daughter. Christine smiled back.

"Okay papa!" she giggled and trotted away once again. She ran past several posters advertising the sights to be seen at the strange little show; Siamese sisters, ventriloquists, the bearded lady. Christine suddenly came to a halt in front of a particularly dark tent. A small wooden sign hung out front that simply read "anormal"; freak. Her dark brown eyes widened in fear as she toddled into the tent.

Inside, strings of fairy lights hung along the walls, providing a faint glow from which to see by. In the middle of the tent sat a giant cage. At first, Christine could not see anything inside.

"Allô! Hello!" she called. At first, there was no response; but after a moment, a dark figure began to move within the cage. Christina gasped and took a small step backwards. The figure straightened and took the form of a human; a child. The child stepped forward into the soft glow of the light, and Christina could not help but stare. The boy stared back at her. Christina tilted her head to one side, confused.

"Why are you not screaming or laughing?" the boy spoke in a barely audible whisper. The entire left side of his face was mangled; veins seemed to pulsate from his forehead and long spindly marks covered his skin. He looked to be about the same age as Christina, however it was nearly impossible to tell with how he looked. A sparse smattering of dark hair covered the top of his head and he was dressed in filthy rags stained with god knows what.

"Why would I scream monsieur?" Christina responded, with a glint of curiosity in her eyes.

"Are you blind?" the boy asked, louder this time.

"No, I can see perfectly. How did you get locked in a cage?"

"They think that I am a freak."

"A freak? But why?"

The boy stared at Christine in shock. How could she not see that he was a monster?

"What is your name?" Christine spoke softly now, stepping closer and closer until she could rest her hands against the cool metal bars.

"Erik" the boy fully looked up now and locked eyes with Christine. He froze and felt his heart skip a beat. Christine held his stare intently and slowly reached her fingers between the bars.

"Erik... I like that name" she said, barely above a whisper. Without breaking his eyes away from hers, Erik reached his slender fingers towards hers until they gently came together. Erik pulled away quickly and broke eye contact with Christine.

"Are you okay Erik?" Christine asked concerned. Erik was breathing hard now, looking at the ground.

"Yes, I... it has been a long time since someone touched me." Christine's look of concern turned to one of sadness.

"What about your papa? My papa always gives me a hug before I go to sleep." Christine asked. Erik's face fell.

"I don't have a papa." Christina's smile faded from her face.

"Oh... I'm sorry Erik"

"It is okay... um... what is your name?"

"Christine." Erik looked up at her once again, and for the first time, he truly studied her. Her dark curly hair and shining brown eyes, her pale skin and her delicate hands. She smiled at him sweetly.

"Christine," he repeated, softly.

"Christine..." he said her name over and over again until her name became a melody instead of a simple word. Christine giggled. Erik looked out at Christine again, suddenly longing to be standing next to her instead of behind bars.

From outside of the tent, Christine's father called out to his daughter. Christine cocked her head at the sound of her father before turning back to Erik.

"It is time for me to go," she said sadly. Erik's face fell again. Christine reached her fingers into the cage once again and lightly touched the side of his face.

"I do not think you are anormal, monsieur Erik. I don't know why people laugh at you," Christine said softly. Instead of recoiling at her touch, Erik leaned closer, longing to feel the warmth of her fingers across all of his skin.

"Christine!" Christine pulled back her hands when she heard her father call again.

"Goodbye, Erik," Christine waved at the poor boy in the cage and ran out of the tent into the moonless night. Erik tentatively lifted a hand to his cheek, which still tingled from the girl's touch. He closed his eyes and murmured, "Christine."


	2. The Music of the Night

Christine sat stoically in her bed, silent tears streaming down her cheeks and onto her white nightgown as she stared blankly at her door. The warmth and happiness that she had known from her home for the past fourteen years was now gone and replaced with a cold emptiness. Gone was the sweet sound of her father's music, gone was the happy laughter from her lungs; in its place was group after group of police officers and investigators.

"Papa" she whispered quietly before hanging her head, her long, dark, curly hair falling into her face. Her breathing became rough and ragged as she began to sing softly; the sound was strangled and full of sorrow, yet beautiful. The tears continued to roll down her face as she sang her sad melody, a eulogy to her father on the other side. Christine suddenly fell silent and snapped her head up at the sound of her name. She sat perfectly still and listened, thinking that maybe she had imagined it. But then, she heard it again; her name sung in a beautiful tenor voice, "Christine." Christine placed her feet on the hard wooden ground and walked softly to her open window. The moon was full and bright in front of her as she leaned out into the cool night air.

"A...Allô?" She called quietly, her heart quivering in fear. She was met with silence in response. Her nightgown billowed lazily around her ankles as she looked around the small balcony. Christine shook her head and turned away, about to tiptoe back to her bed, when she heard her name again, more clearly this time. She turned around quickly and almost collapsed when she saw a shadowy figure staring back at her. She stared up at the dark figure, her brown eyes still glistening from tears. She stepped backwards slowly as the figure stepped down from her balcony and into her room.

"M...Monsieur... w-who are you?" she boldly asked, even though her voice came out more as a frightful whisper. The shadow simply took another step closer to Christine so that he was more visible by the moonlight. He was a tall young man, his dark hair out of place and his body covered in a dark cloak. When Christine tried to look at his face, she was surprised to find the left side covered in a dark cloth fashioned to fit like a mask. She swallowed hard as she took in the fairly handsome boy standing in front of her.

"Do not be afraid, Christine," he coaxed gently; his voice flowed like honey and was perhaps one of the sweetest voices Christine had ever heard. He reached out his hand and ever so lightly placed it on the side of her face, ghosting his thumb over her cheekbone. Christine remained silent, her heart beating out of her chest. She was terrified. The young man stopped and pulled his hand away.

"I am here to protect you," the words seemed to roll off his tongue. Christine sniffed and eyed the boy cautiously.

"y-your voice... it is beautiful," she managed to get out. His thin lips curved slightly in a polite smile.

"Rest now, it is late. You must rest." The young man motioned at her bed and watched as Christine turned around and walked back into the center of her room.

"Who are you Monsie-" Christine was cut short when she turned around to find the figure had vanished completely. She was alone again. Christine tucked herself underneath the soft blankets and closed her eyes, thinking about the shadow in the darkness. The last thing she heard before she succumbed to her weariness was two words in a soft melody, "Goodnight, Christine."

Outside the window, the young man stood looking at Christine's sleeping figure. The wind rustled his cape behind him and mused his hair in all directions. He reached up and removed the makeshift mask from his face, revealing the horrific deformation underneath. The groves in his skin were deep and menacing, suddenly changing a handsome young man into a monster. He stepped once again down from the windowsill and into the girl's room. He silently walked over to her bedside and brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. "Oh Christine, how could such a beautiful creature ever be in such pain?" He spoke quietly. "I am here now, and I promise that I will watch over and guide you from now on." The young man bent down and placed a delicate kiss on her forehead.

"You have shown me compassion; you could have run away and forgotten about me, yet you instead reached through the iron bars that held me for so long." He stood up and stepped through the window once more, only looking back for a second before jumping from the iron-worked railing, disappearing into the depths of Paris.


	3. Down Once More

Sorrowful nights turned to months, and months turned to years. Memories of her father and her childhood faded into a distant haze. It was easier this way, she told herself.

Years passed.

But his voice stayed with her. That beautiful, evocative voice, calling her name. It spoke to her in her dreams and whispered in her ear. It guided her and taught her the secrets of his melody. She held on to his voice amongst the chaos of her life; it was her lifeline, it was the last remaining memory of her father. Her angel of music.

Christine walked out of a warmly lit building and into the cold night. Snow crunched under her fur boots as the breath in front of her came out like smoke. When she looked up, she noted a light snow had begun to fall. Behind her, the door opened and closed once again as a group of giggling young girls came rushing out. As they sauntered off into the wintery Paris night, Christine looked down at her left hand, grasping a pair of worn tan ballet shoes. The ribbons were faded and frayed, dangling down until they almost swept against the cobblestones. The soles were worn but loved and the fabric pulled up around the edges. They were her mother's shoes; the only living memory Christine had of her. Christine looked back at the looming opera house and smiled. Her entire life, Christine had dreamed of dancing on a grand stage, met with a sea of applause and flowers. It seemed almost surreal now that she stood in front of the opera house; her new home. Christine wandered off after the other ballet girls. The streets of Paris were silent and full of shadows; the only light coming from the full moon above.

"Christine." Christine stopped in her tracks at the sound of her name. She looked around quickly with wide eyes before shaking her head and laughing to herself.

"It can't be," she chuckled, laughing in part at her own silly thoughts and in part to calm her nerves. The streets around her were completely empty and quiet. Weren't they? Christine resumed walking down the cobblestones at a quicker pace than before. A few moments passed before she halted again, listening.

"Brava Christine... Christine..." Her name seemed to echo off of every building around her. Someone was calling her name. No... Someone was _singing_ her name. A chill ran up and down her spine as she heard it once again; a beautiful, haunting melodic voice. Christine was frozen to the spot, unable to respond.

"Ay! Fille! What are you doing out, all alone, so late at night?" Christine's surprise faded and was replaced with fear. She slowly turned around to face a vulgar and unkempt man standing behind her. He smiled at her wickedly, showing jagged yellow teeth.

"Don't you know what happens to young girls like you in the city? Aren't you lucky I found you..." The man reached out his grimy hand and gripped onto Christine's forearm. She screamed.

"Let me go!" She struggled against his grip, but could not break free. The man put his full weight onto her, forcing her to sink to the ground. He crawled on top of her, holding down her arms by her wrists and pinning her legs with his knees. He learned down closer and closer to her face.

"Ah, sweetheart, do not worry..." The man grunted. Christine struggled against the man and, with a final attempt, screamed for help. The man took one of his hands and clamped it tightly over her mouth. Christine's vision began to fade as she vaguely saw a figure come up behind the man. The last thing she remembered was the distant calling of her name before falling unconscious.

"Christine... Christine!" Christine's eyes slowly opened when she comprehended the voice saying her name. The image of the cold winter night, still fresh in her mind, began to fade away as Madame Giry's face came into view.

"Qu'est-ce que cela veut dire? What is the meaning of this Christine? I have been looking all over for you. The show opens tonight and you know that everything must be parfait. Perfect. Lest you wish to upset... _him."_ The last word was spoken in a low tone and came out strangled. Christine nodded slowly, her mind still clouded from sleep. Madame Giry turned on her heel and walked towards the door, calling over her shoulder, "I expect you in costume and on stage with the other girls in five minutes!" Then there was silence. Christine sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes, attempting to get her bearings. The room was dimly lit; the only light coming through a crack in the elegant maroon drapes pulled over a glass pane in the wall. Christine realized that she was sitting in her dressing room. _That's odd,_ she thought, looking around. _I must have fallen asleep here._ She slowly stood up, stretching her legs that ached from staying in the same position all night long. She walked over to the drapes and pulled them open. Daylight surged through the glass pane and into the small room, temporarily blinding Christine. When she adjusted to the light, she looked out across the city. The grand Paris skyline was outlined against the greyish blue sky; snow glistened on the rooftops as the sunlight danced amongst the crystals. Christine would have been grateful for the beautiful morning if not for being shaken from her nightmare. She rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms before changing into her white leotard and tutu. She reached under her bed and pulled out an old shoebox; removing the top, she pulled out her ballet shoes. Christine put on the old, worn shoes with care and laced them carefully before running off down the stairs to the grand stage below.

She did not see the figure standing behind her door, a small smile gracing his lips.


End file.
